


Fancy Yourself A…

by Poemsingreenink



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Children, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:24:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Oliver have lunch and talk about kids.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy Yourself A…

"You know,” Oliver said, gazing at a spot just over Connor’s left shoulder. “The last time I actually talked to a kid I panicked, and then asked who she planned on voting for."

Connor was impressed the he managed to catch anything Oliver said over the high-pitched screeching that was spilling out of the nearby playground. For the third time that afternoon he regretted their choice in tables. 

"Did she have an answer?" Connor asked. 

"Obama," Oliver said. "She thought he was 'the best choice for our country at the present time'."

Connor leaned his head back and squinted at the cloudless sky. The combination of the hot summer sunlight, and ever present screaming was causing a headache to press against his temples. An outdoor picnic lunch had seemed like a romantic surprise when he'd decided to do it. 

"Wow. How old was she?"

Oliver shrugged and popped an apple slice into his mouth. "Eight? Nine maybe? I'm not sure. She was very small."

Connor dropped his head, and gravity pulled his sunglasses down his nose. "Wait. You haven't talked to a kid in four years?"

"Longer, that happened right before Obama's first term." Still chewing, Oliver motioned toward the cacophony of small voices with his hand. "I don't really come into contact with them. I was only talking to her because it was Take Your Child To Work Day, and she liked that I had different colored dry-erase markers."

"I thought you had nieces," Connor said. 

"I do. Gloria, my sister's oldest is actually my goddaughter, but I haven't seen her since she was born."

"Why not?"

Oliver quickly shook his head. "Not for any horrible reason, don't scowl like that. Maria moved to Australia for a job when she finished college, and that's where she met her husband. She visited when Gloria was born, but it's too expensive for either of us to fly back and forth."

A particularly ear piercing squeal made Connor grit his teeth. He glanced over his shoulder expecting broken bones or blood, but instead just saw a herd of small legs and arms chasing each other up the slide, and leaving shoe prints on the bright yellow plastic. 

"We tried to e-mail each other for a while," Oliver continued. "But we just kind of faded out of each other's lives."

Connor pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. The world was immediately washed in different shades of blue. 

"My mom really wanted Gemma to make me godfather of one of her kids, but Gemma didn't think I was mature enough for the job."

"Oh."

Connor shrugged, Oliver looked a little too understanding of this, and he fought the urge to squirm. He'd been relieved when Gemma had vetoed his mom's suggestion, and didn't exactly want the job now. 

"She wasn't wrong," he said. "She knows me pretty well."

How she knew him so well, and still loved him so much was a question he'd only recently started asking himself. Pre-Murder Night he'd never thought he was a particularly good person, but he hadn't considered himself a bad person either. Honestly, he'd never considered much, and had been happy to do so. 

It was uncomfortable reassessing every past action, choice, and feeling through the lens that being an accessory to murder provided, but he couldn't stop. On his worst days he missed his past-self's rock solid confidence so much that he knew he'd trade everything, even this strange new love for Oliver, for just a second of relief. Anything to escape the anxiety blooming through his brain. 

"From what you tell me it sounds like your niece and nephew adore you."

Connor nodded. "Sure, but being favorite uncle is easy when all I have to do is chase them around the kitchen or hold them upside-down by their ankles. The minute they go green around the gills I hand them back to Gemma. Or, even better, my brother-in-law."

Connor eyed Oliver's empty sandwich wrapper, and stood up. "Let's take a walk."

"You don't want to finish your sandwich?" 

Connor glanced across the stretch of grass and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't eat. Too loud."

Oliver wiped his hands across the front of his pants and gathered up their empty paper bags. "I always wonder how parents tell the difference between the normal screaming, and the 'Help! I'm being kidnapped!' screaming."

"I think you have to develop an ear for it. My mom once just appeared right in some guy's face because he was scaring Gemma. Like, she'd been in the house and then suddenly there she was."

"Think you'll ever develop one?" Oliver asked. Curiously, but with a false casualty that Connor could always detect. So long as Oliver wasn't using that tone to go behind his back and work with Frank, he found it adorable. 

_You think you can lie_ , Connor thought fondly. _Fancy yourself a sneak, but you have to work harder than that with me, Ollie. I work with the best._

__"I don't know. I'm too busy listening for other things right now."_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I did had a conversation like that with a nine-year-old once. It was weird.


End file.
